The Third Violet | Page 4

asked Hawker listlessly.

"Was that her?" cried Hollanden, with indignation. "Was that her?"
"Oh!" said Hawker.
Hollanden mused again. "She's got lots of money," he said. "Loads of it.
And I think she would be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your
work. They are a tremendously wealthy crowd, although they treat it
simply. It would be a good thing for you. I believe--yes, I am sure she
could be fool enough to have sympathy for you in your work. And now,
if you weren't such a hopeless chump----"
"Oh, shut up, Hollie," said the painter.
For a time Hollanden did as he was bid, but at last he talked again.
"Can't think why they came up here. Must be her sister-in-law's health.
Something like that. She----"
"Great heavens," said Hawker, "you speak of nothing else!"
"Well, you saw her, didn't you?" demanded Hollanden. "What can you
expect, then, from a man of my sense? You--you old stick--you----"
"It was quite dark," protested the painter.
"Quite dark," repeated Hollanden, in a wrathful voice. "What if it was?"
"Well, that is bound to make a difference in a man's opinion, you
know."
"No, it isn't. It was light down at the railroad station, anyhow. If you
had any sand--thunder, but I did get up early this morning! Say, do you
play tennis?"
"After a fashion," said Hawker. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing," replied Hollanden sadly. "Only they are wearing me out
at the game. I had to get up and play before breakfast this morning with
the Worcester girls, and there is a lot more mad players who will be
down on me before long. It's a terrible thing to be a tennis player."

"Why, you used to put yourself out so little for people," remarked
Hawker.
"Yes, but up there"--Hollanden jerked his thumb in the direction of the
inn--"they think I'm so amiable."
"Well, I'll come up and help you out."
"Do," Hollanden laughed; "you and Miss Fanhall can team it against
the littlest Worcester girl and me." He regarded the landscape and
meditated. Hawker struggled for a grip on the thought of the stubble.
"That colour of hair and eyes always knocks me kerplunk," observed
Hollanden softly.
Hawker looked up irascibly. "What colour hair and eyes?" he
demanded. "I believe you're crazy."
"What colour hair and eyes?" repeated Hollanden, with a savage
gesture. "You've got no more appreciation than a post."
"They are good enough for me," muttered Hawker, turning again to his
work. He scowled first at the canvas and then at the stubble. "Seems to
me you had best take care of yourself, instead of planning for me," he
said.
"Me!" cried Hollanden. "Me! Take care of myself! My boy, I've got a
past of sorrow and gloom. I----"
"You're nothing but a kid," said Hawker, glaring at the other man.
"Oh, of course," said Hollanden, wagging his head with midnight
wisdom. "Oh, of course."
"Well, Hollie," said Hawker, with sudden affability, "I didn't mean to
be unpleasant, but then you are rather ridiculous, you know, sitting up
there and howling about the colour of hair and eyes."
"I'm not ridiculous."

"Yes, you are, you know, Hollie."
The writer waved his hand despairingly. "And you rode in the train
with her, and in the stage."
"I didn't see her in the train," said Hawker.
"Oh, then you saw her in the stage. Ha-ha, you old thief! I sat up here,
and you sat down there and lied." He jumped from his perch and
belaboured Hawker's shoulders.
"Stop that!" said the painter.
"Oh, you old thief, you lied to me! You lied---- Hold on--bless my life,
here she comes now!"
CHAPTER IV.
One day Hollanden said: "There are forty-two people at Hemlock Inn, I
think. Fifteen are middle-aged ladies of the most aggressive
respectability. They have come here for no discernible purpose save to
get where they can see people and be displeased at them. They sit in a
large group on that porch and take measurements of character as
importantly as if they constituted the jury of heaven. When I arrived at
Hemlock Inn I at once cast my eye searchingly about me. Perceiving
this assemblage, I cried, 'There they are!' Barely waiting to change my
clothes, I made for this formidable body and endeavoured to conciliate
it. Almost every day I sit down among them and lie like a machine.
Privately I believe they should be hanged, but publicly I glisten with
admiration. Do you know, there is one of 'em who I know has not
moved from the inn in eight days, and this morning I said to her, 'These
long walks in the clear mountain air are doing you a world of good.'
And I keep continually saying, 'Your frankness is so charming!'
Because of the great